


Recompense

by Dassandre



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Atonement - Freeform, Choices, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mistakes, Sorrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 20:16:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15323439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/pseuds/Dassandre
Summary: What are you left with when the only qualities that distinguish you, you betray?    What do you do when you assure people they can rely on you, and they can’t?





	Recompense

**Author's Note:**

> This has been neither betaed nor Brit-picked, barely even by me, and for once, I really don't care.
> 
>  
> 
> For those who matter.
> 
> Be well. 
> 
>  
> 
> Though I am posting this during 007Fest, I will not be counting it toward the competition in any way. That's not what this story about.

**SIS Asset Casualty Summary - 16 July, 2018**

  * Hughes, Caleb, 004:  Killed in Action, 31 May, 2018
  * Galan, Francesca, 008:  Killed in Action, 9 June, 2018
  * Santillan, Allan, 0011:  Retired from Field Duty following permanent disability:  25 June, 2018
  * Bond, James, 007:  Missing in Action, Presumed Killed:  15 July, 2018
  * Trevelyan, Alec, 006:  Missing in Action, Presumed Killed:  15 July, 2018



 

 

Q ran the pad of his thumb along the edge of the folder that held the report.  Paper. He’d asked for it on paper intentionally. Wanted,  _ needed _ to feel it in his hand rather than just see it on a screen.  Tangible.

Real.

About the only thing that felt real anymore, the casualty report.  Lines composed on the death and destruction  _ he _ had brought to the agents of MI6.   

He tossed back the double shot of whisky in the glass he held in his other hand and poured himself another without looking at either the bottle or the glass.  His attention was needed elsewhere. 

Two confirmed dead, one permanently disfigured.  His friends.

Two more missing in action, likely dead as well.  His lovers.

Five gone since the summer began.  Seven remained.

Vely Thao, 0010.  She was in the field.  Corsica.

Double-O Nine, Rand Aguilar, he was off home soil.  Sapporo.

How long?

Until he managed to get them killed, too.

Tech that shouldn’t have failed, did.  Intel that had always been reliable, wasn’t.

Faulty satellite uplinks and compromised allied informants and …

And.

And.

The why … didn’t really matter anymore.  The results were undeniable and agonising. 

Q closed the cover on the file.  Pressed the palm of his right hand to the top of it.  Drank again with his left.

No one had said anything yet, but Q saw it in their eyes.  Especially today. 

Disbelief.

Bond  _ and _ Trevelyan gone?  Resurrection seemed unlikely this time.

Doubt.

If Q couldn’t keep his lovers alive, what chance did the rest of them stand?

Q knew what would come next. 

Suspicion.  Skepticism. Anger.

What are you left with when the only qualities that distinguish you, you betray?  

Nothing of consequence.  

Fidelity to self.  To others. Matters.

What do you do when you assure people they can rely on you, and they can’t?  

Faith is lost.  Distrust will follow. 

It’s companions, Sorrow and Regret… they were already here.  Surrounding him like wraiths of memory and wasted opportunity.

I’m sorry.  I miss you. Come back.

Words matter naught to the dead.

I made a mistake.  I will do better. I will  _ be _ better.

Actions matter to the living.

Save what remains.  Preserve what matters.

Take action.

Q brushed the trackpad with the tip of his index finger, waking the screen.  He tapped the enter key, sending off the message he had composed an hour ago.  

He stood and wrapped himself in the navy woollen overcoat James had given him on his birthday.  He linked around his neck the red and purple striped scarf Alec had given him … just because.

He turned off the lights in his office.  Said goodnight -- good morning, really -- to his night shift.  Took the lift up to ground level, exited the building, and disappeared into the night.

In the morning, R discovered Q’s bag on his chair, his mobile and wallet tucked inside.  His IDs placed neatly on top of the folder that protected the names of those who matter. 

In the morning, M read the message Q had sent: a thank you, a recommendation, an apology …

_ I am sorry. _

A realisation

_ You deserve better. _

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel this was worth something, let me know. If not, silence is preferred over criticism.


End file.
